


Bottled Happiness

by sunaddicted



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Cute, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Pampuria makes an appearance, Q is an adorable dork, R ships them harder than anyone, Sweet James Bond, Wooing, courting gifts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:47:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7264939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You do know that you don't need to bring me presents?" Q inquired as he caught Bond leaving a neatly wrapped package at the corner of his eyes.</p><p>007 smirked and moved the little box in front of the boffin, who still was focused on the screen of his laptop, its light and algorithms reflected on the smudged lenses of his spectacles "I just want to show my appreciation for your hard work, Q"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bottled Happiness

_Bottled Happiness_

Q curiously observed the small glass bottle stoppered with a wonderfully wrought cap of brass on which a happily waving mermaid was etched amidst rolling waves and pointy starfishes; 007 must have had stealthily left it on his cluttered desk while Q was berating him for once again not returning a single functioning piece of equipment - a quiet apology or an abortive attempt at corruption? With a manipulative person such as James Bond it was impossible to tell.

Inside of the bottle there was sand of a light, bubbly pink that looked completely artificial - exactly the same shade of the cotton candy children were always shrieking about in entertainment parks. Though, he had done some research as soon as the presence of the bottle had captured his mind and discovered that the sand was naturally pink in Palermo - the Italian city where Bond had wreaked havoc on his latest mission. Contributing to the idea of artificiality, the most miniscule and perfectly detailed seashells he had ever seen in his whole life were mixed with the fine grains, shimmering softly like imperfect gems under the neon lights; he fuzzily remembered a childhood holiday in Majorca with his parents, during which he had collected seashells at least the size of his digits and had studied their gorgeous patterns.

Q blinked owlishly, cocking his head to the side as if to better understand the reason why the agent had thought about bringing him that bottle that seemed to come straight from a fairytale, prompting Q's imagination into sailing after pirates coveting great treasures and mermaids singing for the Kraken with their hauntingly gorgeous voices.

He was abruptly startled out of his daydreaming when a minion silently offered him a mug of steaming and fragrant tea, shooting his Quartermaster a mildly perplexed glance. Q thanked him politely while he made the bottle disappear in the pocket of his oversized sweater, hiding it close to his body where nobody could see: he didn't know why, but that small and probably thoughtless gift felt intimate - as if 007 had known how Q had always loved the sea, the scent of the salty breeze instantly calming his frayed nerves and the grumbling whispering of the waves a tender lullaby that chased his nightmares away. It was a secret part of his soul, one that, along with his birth name, belonged to his real life about which nobody was supposed to know a miserable thing.

Back at home, well-deep into the night, Q filled his bathtub with scalding hot water and salts that smelled of the ocean. He dipped himself in, ducking his head underwater and clutching the bottle to his sternum, his eyes closed against the stinging of the soap and his skin straining and blushing because of the terrible heat, while his muscles steadily turned to goo and weariness left his bones. His mind peacefully floated into nothingness, not even numbers and strings of code crowded it, swirling into nonexistence like a thin whisp of smoke - and he smiled like he hadn't in a long time, soft at the corners of his lips but etched on all of his features.

The following time he saw Bond, it was to outfit him for a new mission - somewhere in China - and he nonchalantly slipped him an extra magazine for his Walther and refrained from lecturing him before sending 007 on his merry way; the agent had grinned at him so brightly that Q was tempted to check the calendar and see whether Christmas had come around already and he hadn't noticed - it hadn't. 

* * *

Q didn't notice the tastefully beautiful and refined seahorse sculpted in jade until Eve whistled loudly and picked it up to carefully examine it: he had been too intent on ignoring the sad remains of the radio that 007 had bothered to bring back in London "Who's courting you Q? Do tell auntie Evie"

Q blushed heavily and reached for the miniature sculpture, caressing its edges with the pads of his fingers and quietly taking in the exquisitely etched details while puzzlement and a sudden lack of oxygen clouded his brain. Evidently Bond had caught up with his love for the sea and had chosen to stick to the theme for his gifts "Nobody is courting me"

Eve snorted loudly "Are you even aware of how much jade sculptures cost?" she enquired, clearly hinting at some exorbitant price that Q really didn't want to know or he'd feel compelled to finally make Bond a damned exploding pen - even after he had confessed throwing his Walther away as if it had been a boomerang to hit one of the baddies "Who gave it to you?"

Q mutely shook his head, still focused on the expensive gift; he loved Eve to bits but he wasn't keen on listening to her theorising about 007's motives for such a present and filling his head with farfetched scenarios "I don't know" he whispered a smooth lie and hid the seahorse in the safe pocket of his laptop bag to bring it home and put it next to the bottled pink sand on a shelf where a rather large collection of corals and seashells already was artfully placed.

For his following mission, Bond was mysteriously outfitted with a tablet on which some games to pass the time had been installed .

* * *

"You do know that you don't need to bring me presents?" Q inquired as he caught Bond leaving a neatly wrapped package at the corner of his eyes.

007 smirked and moved the little box in front of the boffin, who still was focused on the screen of his laptop, its light and algorithms reflected on the smudged lenses of his spectacles "I just want to show my appreciation for your hard work, Q"

The younger man hummed and reached for the box, finally redirecting his attention on the agent smugly propped against his desk "It won't get you an exploding pen" he teased with a smile as his long and elegant fingers quickly got rid of the smooth and golden paper. Before looking down at the gift, he held Bond's pale gaze and his smile warmed as he took in the pout slowly blossoming on the agent's mouth.

"Is there something I can do to make you reconsider your stance on the topic?" he enquired, leaning in to slightly crowd the Quartermaster's personal space, trying to drown the man in his charm.

Q made a show of thinking about his proposal, massaging his temples and contemplatively looking up at Bond "I'm afraid the answer is no"

As soon as he glanced down at the unwrapped present, Q was tempted to retract his statement and offer 007 whatever he wanted: the polished shell of an oyster laid open on a small cushion covered with blood-red satin, putting on display the huge pearl gleaming softly under the lights; the small imperfections on its surface and the way it was slightly gritty and cold to the touch suggested it was a natural and real one - it took his breath away "I can't possibly accept this" he whispered.

007 chuckled lowly in his throat "The jade sculpture costed way more than this pearl" he pointed out.

Q briefly glared at him before glancing back at the pearl, studying it with fascination "Try asking for something to repay you" he suggested, careful of not making any promises.

"Let me kiss you" The agent immediately replied, as if he had been waiting the other's offer all along "Not here, of course" he added before Q could complain about the unprofessionality of his request "Tonight at dinner, my treat"

A frown dimpled Q's forehead "I don't want to be further indebted with you"

"The pleasure of your company will be part of my repayment" 007 purred "I'll pick you up at seven at your flat?"

Q sighed "Make it eight" he amended and confusedly blinked at the wink the agent threw at him before striding out of Q-branch and telling him to wear a suit. He was still pondering on Bond's words when R popped behind him and giggled in his ear "Guess who has a date with James Bond tonight?" she sing-songed and ruffled his hair.

A blush spread under Q's milky skin "It's not a date" he protested and ducked away from under R's hand: it peeved him that the woman was taller than him even when wearing flat shoes "It's... Repayment"

"He asked for a kiss" she pointed out with a raised eyebrow "And he wants to dine and wine you before snogging the living daylights out of you"

"Still not a date" Q mumbled while hiding the precious gift in a safe drawer of his desk and sticking a post-it to it, so that he would remember to bring it home. 

* * *

Q studied the contents of his wardrobe with a murdering gaze before snapping a picture of it and forwarding it to R, pleading for advice like a kid at his first prom night.

Luckily, she texted back with the required information and only minimal teasing - truly a wonder and Q made a note to himself to bring her something nice for breakfast the following day, maybe one of those awful Danish pastries she liked so much.

Q slipped into the pale lilac shirt and midnight blue suit that he wore only to funerals and weddings, grimacing a bit at the lack of wool and patterns in the outfit R had counselled him - maybe he could put on that cute tie with goldfishes on it... Or maybe not: he could endure a night dressed like a man of his age.

He was still fiddling with the lapels of his jacket, noticing with annoyance that it was just a tad too big on his shoulders and making him look like a kid with his father's clothes on, when the doorbell to his flat rang. Hopping to the door while slipping his shoes on - and god, they squeaked - Q mentally cursed his stupid mouth for offering Bond a way to repay him "Coming!" he shouted a bit exasperatedly, batting Pampuria paw away from a shoelace.

When he finally managed to open the door, Q was fairly sure his hair was a mess of riotous curls and his trousers already wrinkled beyond hope "Bond" Q greeted the agent while forcing himself not to study how perfectly the dove grey suit clung to the older man's toned and sculpted body.

"Q" 007 grinned and bent down to quickly kiss his cheek: his soft lips didn't linger long enough to be more than a fleeting caress but the purposeful pressure was studied to make Q slightly lean in the peck "You look positively ravishing" he complimented, making a show out of checking Q out.

Q reached behind himself to retrieve his keys from a fishbowl filled with spare change and pebbles he had collected from the shores he had walked upon in his life "Let's go" he said, studiously looking at their feet: the sooner they went to the restaurant, the sooner this not-date would be over and he could go back to wonder about the real reason why Bond kept giving him such expensive presents. As he locked the door - eliciting Pampuria loud mewls of displeasure - Q felt calloused and warm palms running up his neck before turning his head to the side for Bond to bend his head and kiss him; too surprised to do anything, Q opened his mouth and stood still as Bond's own lips parted and his tongue seductively sneaked out, slick and hot "I thought you wanted to kiss me at dinner?" he asked, blinking a bit stupidly up at the agent.

"I'm sorry, the temptation was too great to resist" the agent grinned down at Q - and he would have backed Q in the flat again to shag him, if only he hadn't been trying to actually persuade Q that he wanted a serious relationship with him, not just a nice shag "Ready to go?"  

"Uhm... Yes?" Q absentmindedly checked that the door was closed, twisting the handle before following Bond down the stairs of the building in which his flat was housed. He had to restrain himself from touching his lips like a crushing school girl and he slipped in the car "This better be back in MI6 by tomorrow evening at the latest" Q tapped a finger on the dashboard of the Audi he had been tinkering with and readying for missions in the past months "Scratchless" he added in an ominous voice that threatened the agent with endless paperwork and a benching long at least two months. 

"Of course, Q" Bond smiled cheekily at the younger man and smoothly drove into the light evening traffic, turning on the radio on a station broadcasting classical music. The ride was silent and that suited the agent just fine: it was another thing he liked about his quartermaster, the fact that they could exist in the same space without either of them feeling the need to fill the silence with useless chatter. 

Arrived at the restaurant, Q let out a nervous chuckle and tugged at the cuffs of his jacket: the menus were written in a posh and almost illegible font - not that a different one would have made much difference to Q, since he didn't know a word of French apart from _merde_ \- and the prices were conveniently absent; the cotton tablecloth had a threadbare count higher than his nice sheets; the silverware gleamed so brightly that he was almost afraid to touch it and leave his fingerprints on the shiny surface; everything made Q feel fastidiously out of place "Posh doesn't even begin to cover it" he sentenced folding closed his menu, fingers subtly caressing the thick and soft leather binding it. 

Bond's eyes glittered in the artificial warm twilight recreated in the dining room, the tables small oasis of waxy candlelight "Too posh for you to enjoy?" he asked, seriousness hidden behind a cheeky grin: he didn't want to make Q uncomfortable with the expensive atmosphere surrounding them. 

Q shrugged in a way he hoped to be nonchalant and graceful "No, I think I'll quite enjoy being pampered for a night" not that he was poor and couldn't afford treating himself with a nice dinner - he was payed well to deal with international crises while surviving on catnaps and tea. 

"I'm glad to hear that. Would you let me order for you?" Bond asked gently and smiled brightly when Q nodded his consent, turning his head to talk to the waiter he had felt approaching "Any allergies or terrible dislikes I should know of?" 

"Nothing raw, please: I like my food truly and undeniably dead" Q answered, wrinkling his nose a bit at the idea of eating something that hadn't been put on a stove for the necessary time to get rid of that tang characteristic of uncooked meat; saying that he wasn't a fan of _tartare_ or sushi was reductive. Though, he was soon distracted from that nauseous concept by Bond's voice trickling past his lips in smooth and slightly accented French and part of Q had to reconsider whether he still found Spanish the most seductive language after hearing Bond's perfectly rolled Rs. 

Q had never found dinner so excruciatingly slow and delicious as he did that night, with Bond's fingers brushing the back of his hands and his feet caressing up his calves under the tablecloth. Plus, the food was so good to the point of being orgasmic and the wine slid sweet and slightly bubbly down his throat - and maybe Bond was trying to get him drunk because he kept topping up his glass "How did you know about the sea?" he asked, vaguely waving his hand in the air. 

"I bribed R" the agent answered, spearing a piece of lobster on his fork and brought it up to the other's plush lips "I had to promise her unspeakable things" he winked. 

Q didn't know whether to be peeved or flattered by 007's nosiness - after all, he wasn't interesting if compared to Bond's usual type of conquests - and occupied himself with parting his lips for the proffered bite, tongue swirling a big around the teeth of the fork to catch the last bits of sauce "You're a menace" he sentenced in the end, sipping his wine. 

When it came time for dessert, Q was honestly feeling too flushed to be healthy and he felt as if aided by the alcohol, his blood had all rushed between his legs since his head felt like it was filled with fluttering butterflies. The fact that 007 ended up feeding him spoonful after spoonful of a decadently rich dark chocolate mousse, didn't help at all to reestablish his circulation. 

Bond was glad to notice how completely relaxed and happy Q looked "Let me take you home" he whispered as he handed the waiter his credit card. 

* * *

Q woke up with a pounding headache, glaring murderously at the glass of water and paracetamol innocently deposited beside his glasses on the bedside table. Behind those items, a big package wrapped in a flashy blue paper glinted almost too happily in the sunlight streaming in his room - it was so gaudy, it drove Q insane. What drove him even more insane, it was the fact there was no trace of a certain agent in his flat - not even the evidence that Bond had slept in his bed - and that he was dressed in his pristine pyjamas, which meant they hadn't even shagged. 

Pampuria mewled rather obnoxiously and pranced all over the bed before haughtily curling in the small of his back. Q groaned and closed his eyes, worming his head under a pillow to try to catch some more rest: hazily, some images danced behind Q's lowered eyelids and he tried to chase them away without much success. 

Bond driving them back home, accelerating on the almost empty streets in a way that had made Q feel both exhilarated and worried sick for the car - and he was fairly sure he had reminded the agent that he wouldn't erase any speeding tickets. 

Slightly rough hands helping him gently out of the suit, even as Q giggled and tried to entice Bond in his bed with what he hoped had been seductive kisses up the side his neck, tongue flicking out against the pulse point to taste the heavy tang of his cologne. 

An obscenely hot mouth wrapping around his cock - and Q could remember being surprised at Bond's willingness to fall on his knees, somehow he had imagined that the man would never do that. The slow and expert suction, paired up with Bond's smouldering eyes looking up at him and that wicked tongue dipping in his slit, had made Q come embarrassingly quick. 

As he remembered basically falling asleep on Bond and the agent chuckling fondly as he helped him in a fresh pair of pyjamas, Q sat up groaning and blindly groped for his glasses, cheeks burning up with embarrassment as he reached for the package. A note fluttered to the ground and Q leaned down to snatch it up before Pampuria could make confetti of it. 

_Second date it's your pick -JB_

Q rolled his eyes at the brief message even as a stupid grin broke out on his face. He busied himself with the present, tearing through the paper carelessly "You wonderful bastard" Q sighed and retrieved his mobile. 

_Today. Lunch. Bring back the car -Q_

_I love the Nemo plushie -Q_

**Author's Note:**

> In Mondello, Palermo's most famous beach, sand is really pink and mixed up with tiny and perfect shells (and yes, I've got it bottled up)


End file.
